


Incendie

by Bronte



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Gen, Healing, Notre Dame de Paris, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronte/pseuds/Bronte
Summary: La cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris is in flames.





	1. Chapter 1

_La cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris_  is in flames. **  
**

The five of them stand just beyond the police line, hand in hand, at a loss. Yoyos, batons and tops sit useless at their sides. Illusions are pointless. Shields can only hide them from the flames.

Ladybug does her due diligence of course, having helped keep the citizens at bay while the symbol of their city burned. She’d noticed the smell first, the acrid scent of trouble wafting in through the doors of her parents  _Boulangerie-Patisserie_. She’d escaped her parents supervision fully expecting to fight an akuma and be back before dinner.

She certainly hadn’t expected this.

She finds Chat Noir using his baton to block traffic and his cheeks are already smudged in ash. She asks him if there had been anyone to save and he assures her that they all managed to escape before the roof caved in. She’ll later find out that he was first on the scene and had managed to evacuate the remaining tourists and construction workers responsible for Her renovation.

But for now, as the spire falls, the city watches in silence.

There’s nothing they can do. No one can, not as the flames rage higher and higher, razing the roof of the cathedral to the ground. The firefighters work as hard as they can to tame the leaping plumes of flame as they pour out through the rose window on the western facade, but there’s only so much they can do with the resources they have.

Soon, there will be nothing but the ashes of over eight hundred years of history at the edge of the Seine.

_La cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris_  continues to burn.

And every heart in Paris burns too.

~

_NOTE: [Notre-Dame de Paris, as it’s known to most of the French speaking world, has suffered from structural setbacks before. It’s been crumbling since the 1800s and has been in a state of renovation for the last several decades. Because of this, many of Her statues and relics are safely tucked away where they’re being restored to their former glory but many architectural aspects, like the spire itself, weren’t quite as lucky. Some people are saying that Notre-Dame de Paris is only somewhat damaged and others are saying that it’s going to be a pile of ash. While none of us can be certain as to the damage until the fire is completely extinguished, I think it’s safe to say that this truly is a heartbreaking event for not just Catholics entering Holy Week, but Parisians themselves. Regardless of race or religion, Notre-Dame de Paris is a beloved and iconic silhouette on the skyline of Paris and will be mourned loudly and passionately by people around the world.]_


	2. Chapter 2

She continues to burn into the night. **  
**

Outside, citizens line the edges of the Seine like sentinels, standing across from the river in full view of the billowing smoke that continues to crest across the night time sky. The people gather on _le Pont Sully_ , their presence strangely silent, almost eerie. Ladybug walks among them and there are no cries for photos or whispered words of wonder. There’s a palpable heaviness in the air and they all feel it in their lungs and in their souls, a deep and dark and sober feeling, all frozen in shock.

Above the soft murmurs of prayer, above the near silent gasps of grief, a voice begins to beckon. Soft at first, Ladybug can hardly hear it until it starts to swell, the Catholic hymn Ave Maria floating through the air like a balm, sacred and enduring. The citizens around her clasp hands and join in, some kneeling, some barely breathing, others letting their voices carry confidently in the air.

Chat sings in tenor harmonies alongside Queen B, their hands clasped together tightly as their city mourns around them and Ladybug simply stands and listens, unfamiliar with the words. Their prayers weave and ebb between the wail of sirens on the island, the air still thick with the smell of smoke and embers.

They’re singing to a dying building.

_C'est en toi, Vierge Sainte, en toi que j'espère._

 

_[NOTE: I was very happy to wake this morning and find that they had saved both bell towers, as well as most of the stone stone. However, experts estimate that it will take between 10 and 15 years to repair and restore the building to its former glory and that's only if they get the funds and support that they require for what will be a painstaking renovation. Some of France's wealthiest families have already pledged copious amounts of monies to the project...it will be a work in progress for many years but at least the majority of the artwork and relics were saved from devastation.]_


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn breaks.

Marinette yawns and snatches her mobile off her nightstand, tapping the Twitter icon before she can rub the sleep from her eyes. She’d gotten home long after midnight and she can still feel the sticky, wet soot on her lashes as she rolls over and sets the screen in front of her, scrolling furiously through the news.

It isn’t as bad as they thought.

Marinette leaps out from underneath her covers and props open the hatch above her bed, both eager and fearful to see what the skyline has in store. The cathedral is riddled in ash and smaller than she was this time yesterday, but she’s still there, battered and bruised and battleworn. From her vantage point, it’s easy to see where the wooden roof above the transepts have caved in completely, the ancient oak and beech wood beams now lying like matchsticks on the ground within. Marinette is relieved to see the iconic bell towers still standing however, and the constricting feeling in her chest lessens somewhat, but only a little.

Many parts of the 4ème arrondissement are still cordoned off with police tape including the west entrance of  _Collège Françoise Dupont_ , and Sabine quickly confirmed that school would be cancelled for at least the morning hours so emergency vehicles could come and go without wading through traffic and citizens alike. Marinette is thankful for the reprieve and curls back into bed, content to read about what would become of the ancient Gothic cathedral she so often took for granted. She’d spent more than a few nights hanging off the spire and playing tag between the belfries and the nave. She’d even taken selfies with the gargoyles on the eaves and clashed with an akuma within the flying buttresses, catching them in a web of string and tossing them into the Seine.

Evenings as Ladybug would never be the same.

She sits up and watches as the sun rises above the cityscape through her bedroom window,  _la cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris_  slowly illuminating in stark contrast against the cherry blossoms and greenery that surrounds the ages old building. Sunlight streams in through her gaping holes, illuminating the rose window on the western facade it all of its splendid glory, still intact, still breathing.

She lives to see another morning.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey.”

The air is cool. The wind blows his hair across his forehead, the only movement on his otherwise suspended frame, frozen in time as she joins him on the rooftop of the apartment building just north of the westernmost facade. He has a frighteningly stark view of the damage that had been wrought the night previous and Ladybug shivers involuntarily, sitting down beside him.

“I used to go to Midnight Mass here.”

His voice hangs in the air for several seconds, his flat tone barely making it passed his lips. She glances at him sidelong and notices the stiffness of his shoulders, the thin line of his lips as they purse with a poignant melancholy she so rarely sees from him. She doesn’t know what to say so she stays silent and watches as the firefighters and experts mill across what remains of the rooftops and scaffolding, analysing the stonework for structural damage.

“I haven’t been in two years though,” he continues a few moments later, still ghostly still, “My mother insisted we go every Christmas Eve. My father couldn’t stand it, but I didn’t mind it too much. It was the only time I could go outside and not be...well…”

He keeps his eyes trained on the yawning void where the nave’s gable used to be, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it sucks.”

Ladybug chuckles, “That’s...a bit of an understatement.”

“They managed to save most of it though,” Chat finally shifts and takes a weary breath, “The art, the statues, the altar. I went down earlier to see if I could help but they’re not letting anyone in before the firefighters decide it’s safe.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Ladybug slides closer, “I’m sure they’ll let you in to help soon. I can tell it means a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low, “Did she mean anything to you?”

“The cathedral?” Ladybug shrugs, her shoulders stiff in the early spring chill, “I can see it from my bedroom window.”

“You’re lucky,” he responds, his eyes still fixed on the smoke smudged facade.

She waits a few more minutes before breaking the silence, “Why didn’t you go to Midnight Mass last year?”

Chat stretches one of his legs forwards and leans back against their steel perch, “Lots of reasons, but mostly because my mother...well, she’s not really around to force us to go anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Ladybug breathes, ice dripping in her lungs. She turns to face him fully and feels horrible about asking, about breaking her own self imposed rule not to delve into their personal histories. What had happened to her? Did she leave? Were his parents divorced? Did she…Ladybug doesn’t even want to finish that thought.

Nudging closer, she hooks her arm over his shoulders and gives him a gentle squeeze. It’s not necessarily something she does often but it feels like the right thing to do, especially as Chat’s head gently falls to rest on her temple, completing the circle. They spend some time like that, watching as the men and women in hardhats write words on clipboards and take photos of the damage. She traces the path of a drone with her eyes as it hums omnipresent, swooping back and forth across the ruined sects where the spire once stood. 

“It kind of feels like I lost a person.”

His voice rumbles against her side, a welcome comfort to his otherwise chilling words, “They’ll rebuild it. This is Paris after all.”

He hums in agreement, “You’re right. You’re always right.”

“Not always,” she gives his shoulder a little squeeze and leans in more than ever, “But I’d like to think I’m right about this.”

“It’s going to take a long time.”

“Good things usually do,” she says and she can feel him nod against her side, “Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know.”

He laughs through his nose, “Don’t tell me you’re studying  _ Li Proverbe au Vilain _ at school too.”

“I’d take an akuma attack over another medieval book report,” Ladybug snickers, relishing in the way she can feel the tension ebb from his shoulders, “But I did like that proverb. I thought it made sense to use it here.”

“It does,” he agrees, his hand tightening on her waist ever so slightly, “But until then…”

“We’ll do what we’ve always do,” she says, finishing his sentence for him, “Stand together. Paris may have lost her Lady, but they didn’t lose their Ladybug.”

“You should put that on a T-shirt,” Chat snorts, “I’d buy ten.”

“Of course you would,” she laughs, “Come on, let’s go grab something hot to drink. I’m freezing.”

Chat straightens and shakes his head, “You go. I’ll stay here.”

“I can’t hold two coffees and swing a yoyo at the same time and you know it,” Ladybug argues, hooking her hands beneath his underarms in an attempt to get him to stand, “That, and I think you need a change of scenery. Come with me.”

“Ladybug...” 

Sighing, the heroine changes tactics, “I’ll buy?”

Chat gives her a funny look, “We’re superheroes. We’ve never had to pay for a coffee in our lives.”

“Point taken,” Ladybug tries to lift him again with identical results, “Please Chat? It’ll take five minutes, come on.”

“I don’t really feel like moving,” he replies, peering down at the screen of his baton for a moment, “Besides, the bells are going to start ringing soon.”

Ladybug tips her head, “The bells?”

“Yeah,” Chat draws his legs back towards his body and rests his chin on his knees, “All the churches in Paris are going to ring their bells at the same time and I want to hear it.”

“Oh,” Ladybug stops short for lack of anything better to say. It’s obviously a touchier subject than she’d realised; his voice in the wind last night singing hymns she was only barely familiar with could attest to that. Baring his soul to her like this must have been tough for him, but she supposes everyone in Paris was feeling a little raw, a little shaken, a little overcome. 

He hears it first, the kitten ears perched atop his head suddenly twitching and alert. She strains to find the source over of the road noise until it builds and grows, penetrating the air and reverberating in her bones. She can tell that he can feel it too, the grand, swelling burst of harmonies as they crests from the treetops, a euphonic, dulcet sound that fills her lungs and makes her hair stand on end. Suspended, she stands beside him and soaks it in, the bells of a thousand churches rising above everything around them. She’s never been religious but it still feels like an invitation, a reminder, a call to something more, to something beyond herself. 

“It’s when the fire started,” Chat explains before she has time to ask, “They’re playing for Her.”

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t have to. 


End file.
